Vellichor
by BluishBleach
Summary: Alex stumbles into a used bookshop one day. He's tired and he's hurt, and he doesn't expect anyone to care. He's wrong. For SpyFest Holiday Fic-Exchange 2019.


This is my story for the SpyFest Holiday Fic-Exchange 2019! Happy Holidays everyone! :)

Prompt: _Choose your favourite word from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows and write about it._

* * *

-Vellichor-

_"The strange wistfulness of used bookshops."_

* * *

It was almost 8 PM when Alex came across the bookstore. A quick peek at the sign on the front showed that it would be open until 9:00, so he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

A delicate tinkling came from overhead where the door had brushed the small silver bell strung over the doorway, and Alex looked around for the owner.

The inside of the bookstore was a veritable maze of shelves, all wooden and warped, and crammed full to bursting with books of all shapes and sizes. Little slips of paper were slid between book covers every few feet, advertising genre, or author, and the entire store had a cramped, fire hazard feel to it. Even the air was stuffy, although it was dry, and as Alex watched, little dust motes spiraled lazily under the glowing yellow lights from overhead.

"I'll be with you in one second!" A strong voice hollered, and Alex jumped, head twisting to the noise. There was a bustling noise and then a hand reached out and threw aside the cloth curtain hung up behind the counter.

A short and squat white woman of about 50 brushed through the curtain and came to stand behind the register. Her grey streaked hair was swept up into a tight bun, and she wore corduroy overalls over a simple white shirt.

"Hey kiddo." She smiled at him. Her gaze barely lingered over his black eye and split lip, and for that, he felt a rush of gratitude. "Just looking around?"

"Yes. For now."

"Okay, well if you need me I might be in the back. Just hit the bell." She gestured to the bell on the counter.

He nodded silently and then before she could say anything more, disappeared into the stacks, leaving her staring at the spot where he had stood.

45 minutes later, he was gone, slipping the woman a small nod as he slid out of the door.

* * *

Two weeks later he was back. He didn't know why, exactly. Maybe it was the silence in the store last time. He'd liked it. All he'd done was sit on a stool in the far back corner, reading a used _I Spy _book, searching the pages for little toy soldiers and glass marbles, but… it had been the most relaxed he'd felt in a long time.

The store was worn down, and everything held at least a thin layer of dust— obviously it wasn't a very popular place. He didn't have to worry as much about unwanted intrusions. The same tinkling of the bell heralded his arrival, and this time his entrance was greeted by an immediate, "Welcome to _Muse Used Books_\- oh!"

There were two women behind the corner this time. The one who had called out was tall and thin and probably around- he wanted to say 60? She was staring at him, eyes wide and shocked, and as he watched a hand fluttered to her mouth.

"Stella!" The woman from two weeks ago hissed out the name and dug an elbow into the woman's bony side. "Quit that!" She refocused her eyes on Alex and gave him a grimacing smile. "You just go ahead sweetie, come to the counter if you need anything."

He smiled tightly back at her and slipped down the rows of shelves. Behind him, the women began hissing to each other in earnest.

"Stella, don't do that!"

"But he's black and blue! He's—"

"—not here to be gawked at!"

"But—"

Despite the whispering and the staring, the bookstore was still a better place to be than his home.

* * *

It was almost five months later that he visited the bookstore for the third time, and finally had a proper conversation with the women.

As soon as he walked in, the second woman _(Stella?)_, taller and thinner than the second, jumped up from her seat behind the counter and came around to stand in front of him. "You're back."

Alex paused uncertainly and said nothing. Just looked at her.

She bit her lip and glance back at the first woman, who narrowed her eyes and gave her a _Look. _

"Oh, look, I'm sorry alright? For- for last time. You were a customer and I shouldn't have said anything to make you uncomfortable, and… and I hope you can forgive me."

And now Alex was _staring _at her because, uh? "That was... five months ago."

"Well, yes. And I've been sorry for five months."

Alex stared some more. He wasn't quite sure what to say, because _what? _"It's… okay? I mean, it wasn't a big deal to me, and… You really remember me? Are you sure?"

"We remember you," the woman from behind the counter finally spoke up. "We don't have many customers, and we always remember repeats."

"Oh." Alex realized that he was staring, and took a moment to wipe the bewildered look off his face. "Well, it's okay. Um. Thank you for apologizing to me?"

"Thank you for accepting my apology," the tall woman said sincerely. "I'm Stella. This is Mary."

The sturdy looking woman from behind the counter nodded at him, and he nodded back. "I'm Alex. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, properly," Stella said. "And it's also nice that you don't have any bruises on your face this time."

"Wow," Mary said flatly. "You're _unbelievable."_

"Well, it _is _nice! And he said it wasn't a big deal to him—"

"That doesn't mean you should just point it out again! Seriously—"

"Okay but it's fine now too," Alex interrupted, although he could feel his face grow warm. "Yes, it's very nice not to be bruised."

Mary glared at Stella, who threw her arms up.

"I'm sorry, kid," Mary said to him, still glowering at the other woman out of the corner of her eye. "We'll let you go now."

"Um. Thanks." And then, keeping an eye warily on the two, he slunk away.

He maneuvered through the stacks, feeling his tension gently flow out of him like his body had a leak, although he maintained a completely baffled kernel at the center, because seriously, _what? _People rarely apologized to him— it was just something that didn't really happen anymore. Not in the life he was living currently. And these women had literally waited five _months _to say sorry to him? For something that wasn't even a big deal?

He found the rickety old stool he'd been sitting on on his previous visits. It was still exactly the same. He sat and realized that even the books piled up around the stool were the same— a folded Brandon Sanderson novel, _The Golden Compass _with a large water stain over the front, and also a plain book missing it's paper cover.

He sat and took a deep breath. It was Monday, 6 o'clock. He was fine and healthy and he would be able to hear someone approaching from around the stacks, if they came. He stopped and listened for a long moment. He was pretty sure the store was empty. And the bell would alert to anyone entering from the front.

And so he finally allowed himself to relax all the way.

There was something about the bookstore that made him feel… safe. In a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Realistically, it probably had something to do with how high the shelves were, blocking all line of sight from the windows.

But he thought it also had to do with the fact that many times in his childhood, Ian had taken him traveling and had to leave him abruptly for business. That meant either dropping him back off at their hotel or lodgings, or finding an equally safe space to leave him.

It usually ended up being a bookstore of some sort. He had surprisingly good memories of bookstores, for being practically abandoned in them for hours on end.

There was one particular memory that stood out to him vividly: they'd been in Spain, sightseeing in Barcelona, when Ian had taken an unexpected phone call. Alex remembered watching his uncle carefully, detailing the minute shifts in expression. The furrowing of the brow. The tightening of his lips. They were subtle, and nearly invisible, but— well— Alex had known Ian for nearly 9 years.

Ian had clicked his phone shut and stared down at him with an indecipherable expression.

Well.

Almost indecipherable.

"Bookstore?" Alex asked quietly, darting his eyes away to watch a young boy throw bread down for pigeons, so he didn't have to look at that expression for any longer.

Ian sighed quietly. "Yes. Bookstore. I'm sorry Alex, something just came up."

And then 20 minutes later he was standing alone awkwardly in the child's section of a bookstore, staring at the rows of brightly coloured paperbacks packed tightly on the shelves. He'd picked one at random and had started reading.

When Ian had come to get him, 6 entire hours later, sporting a new black eye, Alex had been sitting on the floor, absorbed in the 3rd book of the series. Ian, guilt in his eyes, had let Alex buy the last two of the series.

And Alex knew that Ian had felt terrible, abandoning his nephew in Barcelona for half a day when they were supposed to be having fun and sightseeing, but… it had been one of the best days of Alex's life. The people at the bookstore were nice, and they didn't bother him, and he'd had the chance to read children's books, something that Ian didn't necessarily discourage— but it wasn't exactly something that he'd _encouraged, _either. Usually Alex was gifted with at least teen books. A lot of the time, adult novels.

Children's book were… nice. He'd forgotten how much he liked them.

Alex's eyes drifted to the ground and lit on the water stained _The Golden Compass _paperback. Shaking off his memories, he reached down and picked it up.

He cracked it open and began.

Soft footsteps padding on the creaky wooden floor snapped him out of his concentration, and his head whipped up immediately.

Mary came around the corner. She was wearing flower patterned jeans, and a button up shirt. "Alex," she said, eyes finding him immediately. "Are you finding everything alright?"

"Yes. I was just— um." He held up _The Golden Compass_. And then noticed his watch. It was 8:00. He'd been reading for _two hours. _"I didn't realize it was so late. Are you—? Do you close soon? Or is it still 9 on Mondays?"

"Still 9." Mary came over and sat on the chair next to him, which creaked loudly when she lowered herself. She grimaced. "Need to get some new ones," she patted the chair under her. "These have been here for… well, almost 10 years now."

And Alex didn't really want to talk with her, but. She was here. And it looked like she meant to stay. So, "You've worked here for that long?"

"Yes. I've owned the place for longer, actually." She smiled. "Not what I thought I'd be doing when I was a kid, but here we are. It's not bad work. Peaceful. And I like books. Not a bad career for a 53 year old." She paused and then asked casually, "How old are you, Alex?"

And oh. Oh wow. Did she really think that was subtle? He paused, considered, and then answered, truthfully, "I'm 18."

"18, huh. And you're hanging out at a used bookstore in your free time? What do your parents have to say to that?"

And once again, _wow. _"I live alone. And anyway, shouldn't your friend be asking these questions?"

Mary flushed bright red. "I'm not—"

"You are." He looked at her calmly. "I thought you didn't want to make your customers uncomfortable."

She recovered quickly, and countered, face still red, "I thought you said you weren't uncomfortable."

"Clearly, I'm a better liar than you." He gave her a pointed look, and she groaned and leaned back, chair creaking.

"Oh god. Okay. Fine. I'm sorry. But— and I hate to say it— Stella was right. You looked really messed up. And I'd be a pretty terrible mother if I didn't at least try to see if— you know— you were alright."

"Well. I am."

"Yeah, now." She looked him over closely, no doubt taking in the dark bags under his eyes, and the white scars that peeked out from under his sleeves. "You really live alone?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Are we done here?" He calmly cracked back open _The Golden Compass _and tried to ignore the slight tremble in his hands.

"I… yes. Yes, we're done here." She stood and then hovered awkwardly over him for a moment. "Damn it. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, probably, but— you look _young. _I didn't want to—"

"It's fine," he interrupted, even though it really wasn't. Not to him. "Everything is fine now. Please." He held his book up higher.

With one last guilty look, she left.

And he immediately lowered the book, knuckles white around the pages.

Oh my _god. _So much for nice and peaceful bookstore where people left him _alone. _Jesus.

The trembling in his hands got worse and he had to put down his book altogether. '_But… you look_— _young_—'

Looking young had been the catalyst for the _worst _parts of his life. He hated that he still had that characteristic. He _hated _it.

He sat there for another few moments, struggling to control his breathing, struggling to control the _stupid _shaking in his hands because _god. _He was better than this— this panic. He had been through so much more than just a few careless questions— both before his foster care, and yeah, during.

Sabina and her parents hadn't been able to hand him. It wasn't their fault, he realized now. One night, a month or two after Jack, after he'd been taken into their home, Sabina had woken him up from a nightmare. He'd been screaming and crying in his sleep, and when she'd bent over to shake him awake, he'd broken her nose.

It had been horrible, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat, to look down and see his friend lying on the floor, blood dripping from her crooked nose, smearing her jaw like paint. Knowing _he'd _done that.

And when Edward and Liz Pleasure had thundered down the hallway and thrown open the door— well.

They had obviously thought it was pretty horrible too.

And Alex was sure that Jones had given them all sorts of quaint, insincere promises to get him the best help they could, to put him with people who were trained to handle his type of trauma...

But.

Well.

She hadn't.

And he didn't like to think about the things that Jones had done to him, but he _also _didn't like to think about the things that came after. They were bad too, just in different ways.

Alex had finally managed to regulate his breathing, and was just getting up to go back to his dead silent apartment, when Mary reappeared around the corner.

"Hey," she said. She still sounded awkward. Her eyes shifted uncomfortably around the floor. "Look. I'm sorry about pushing you around earlier. Could you— would you—" She looked up and met his eyes. She smiled determinedly. "Would you let us make it up to you with dinner?"

He paused heavily. Unsure. "Dinner? With… you? And who else?"

"Stella. We live in the apartment above the store. Please."

Alex sucked on his bottom lip. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity."

"Or guilt."

"It's not guilt." She pursed her lips and huffed out a good-natured breath. "Okay, maybe it's a little guilt. But it's also free food for you, and if you really live alone, you're probably growing tired of cooking."

He was tired of it. In fact, he'd been tired of cooking since he was seven years old.

The pause lengthened. "No," he said finally. "No, I think I'm fine."

He brushed past her and made his way to the front of the store, ignoring the start of her protest. Stella was at the counter, typing away something on the old desktop computer. She looked up as he approached.

"Alex! Where are you going?"

"Home."

And then he left.

* * *

And then he was back. Two days had passed. He was not doing well.

He thought he'd be alright, now that he was alone, not getting hurt by people he should be able to trust.

And he was, in a lot of ways. But in others, he only seemed to be getting worse.

"Alex?"

He looked up. He hadn't even noticed that he'd been staring at the pavement for the last— God, the last five minutes? He really was out of it.

Stella stared at him tentatively. She was clutching a grocery bag of produce.

"Alex, what are you doing here?"

"I'm.. I—" He didn't know what to say, and he cut himself off, frustrated, and stepped aside so that Stella could enter the bookstore. He'd been standing in front of it, drifting in silence, for longer than he'd thought.

"I'm going in through the back, actually," Stella said. "But I saw you here and I thought— well. Are you okay? Do you… want to come in?"

He opened his mouth to say no, because he _didn't. _He didn't want to come in anywhere, with anyone, because he didn't _need _anyone. He never had. But what came out was—

"_Please."_

He sucked in a breath, startled. Had that come from _him? _It had slipped out without his permission and he opened his mouth again to take it back—

But Stella was nodding and shifting her bags to one arm, reaching out for him with the other.

"Come here, sweetie. We were just about to cook for the night."

She ushered him around the side of the store, down a darkened alley that set off every fight or flight instinct he had. But soon enough they were at the back of the store, and Stella was unlocking a scuffed up door and pulling him inside.

He was on a lowly lit landing, leading up to a short flight of stairs. There was a door to his left.

"To the bookstore," Stella said, toeing off her shoes. In the low light her dark brown skin looked like it was glowing. "Up is to the apartment."

Alex slipped off his own shoes and silently took a bag. It was too late to back out now.

They hiked up the stairs, and when they got to the top, Alex could hear light music and soft humming coming from a room that he assumed to be the kitchen. Light was spilling out into the darkened hallway. Stella took the time to flip a switch near the landing and suddenly everything was illuminated.

She called out, "Mary! I'm home. And we have a guest."

"A guest? Is it Marcus?"

"No." Stella looked down at him and gave him a comforting smile. "It's Alex."

The was a small pause. And then the sound of a scramble and Mary was popping through the doorway.

"Alex?" She blurted. "Are you okay?"

He gave a strained small. His chest felt empty and he was _exhausted. _But he was alive. And he wasn't bleeding. "I'm okay." He held up his grocery bag. "Where should I put this?"

"The counter." She watched him, concern clear in her eyes as he stepped in and began unpacking the bag on the counter.

Behind him, he could hear them hissing again, but he ignored it because yeah. Apparently this was their thing.

"Where did you find him?"

"He was just outside. And I thought you wouldn't mind—"

"No, of course I don't, you did the right thing—"

"He looked so _sad, _Mary, he—"

"Does this go in the fridge?" He interrupted, turning and holding up a tub of sourcream.

"No kid," Mary said, eyes still worried. She had a hand on Stella's forearm, and she had taken the other grocery bag from her. "Leave it out. I was just going to get started cooking. Why don't you and Stel' go hang out in the living room while I get everything ready, okay?"

He followed Stella to the living room silently, and sat down in the big chair she gestured to. It was huge and soft and overstuffed. His breath whooshed out of him in a low groan when he sank deep into the cushion.

"So." Stella nibbled her lip. She was perched on the edge of the couch, a kitschy thing with flower printed fabric. Nothing in the room matched. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I'm just…" He shook his head. He was too tired to think. "Thank you for letting me in. You didn't have to do that."

"It's no big deal, sweetie."

_It is to me, _he thought.

From the kitchen came soft clattering and muffled swearing, and Stella's eyes darted over. A soft smile flitted across her lips.

"So how long have you been together?" He asked, because he absolutely did not want to talk about himself.

Her smile disappeared immediately, and she jumped as if she'd been struck.

"Together?" Her eyes were wide, and she swallowed visibly. "What- What makes you think that we're together?"

"The way you look at each other. The way you act." He smiled wryly. "Plus, I mean. You live together. So."

"Oh. Well." She smiled sheepishly, nervously. "We've been together for almost 16 years. We actually bought the bookstore together. It wasn't… it wasn't what I was expecting of my life. When I was a child, things were so different… And I guess things still aren't perfect for- for people like me. Like us. But I'm still always, constantly surprised by how happy I am. Waking up every morning next to Mary is the most precious thing to me." The soft smile had returned to her face, and Alex felt tears blinking in his eyes.

Why couldn't _he _have that? Happiness. Someone who _loved _him. A good ending to a shitty hand dealt in life.

"Have you ever been in love?" Stella asked him, and he forced the tears away with sheer willpower and practice.

"I don't think I'm made for love."

"You're 18."

"Yes." The _and? _went silently unsaid.

Stella furrowed her brow at him. "Do you… not like people then? Romantically, I mean."

He wasn't sure how to explain it to her. That his capacity for intimacy had been broken inside of him, years in the past. There was something wrong with him, behind his ribcage, in his heart. It had happened a long time ago. He didn't think it could ever be fixed. He didn't know if there was enough inside of him _to _fix.

In the end he just shrugged. Changed the subject clumsily. "Mary said that she was a mother. Do you have children, then?"

"Oh. Yes. Well, Mary has a biological child from her ex-husband. But he's mine now too."

"Oh."

They lapsed into awkward silence. The armchair was so _soft. _Alex closed his eyes, for just a moment. God, but he was so _tired. _Just a moment… That was all.

He drifted off.

And then a hand was on his shoulder and—

He exploded into consciousness. "_Get off me!" _His hands lashed out, connecting with something solid, and in a blink he was five feet away, standing, shaking, eyes wide and terrified.

"Mary!" Stella gasped. "Oh my God!"

"I'm fine," Mary said loudly, clambering to her feet with a grimace. "Stella— _Alex." _

Alex stared between them, face white. His shaking increased. "Oh god. Oh _god, _did I- did I _hit _you? _Oh god_—"

"I'm fine," Mary repeated, hurrying over, and stopping a foot away. Stella followed behind her. "Alex, I'm _fine_, you obviously didn't mean it— and it was my fault for waking you up like that. I should have known it would be a bad idea. I should have known. It's on me."

"I _hurt _you," he gasped out, hands rising to clutch at his forearms. "Mary I'm so sorry, I'm _so _sorry—"

"Can I touch you now?" She asked firmly. "Alex. Look at me. Can I touch you now? I swear to you, I will not hurt you."

"Why would you want to _touch _me?" It came out pitched too high, almost hysterical. "Just let me leave, _please, _I should have known, I should have _known_—"

"Alex," Mary said firmly. "Yes or no?"

He nodded in a daze, because oh _god_, he ruined _everything _he ever touched. There was nothing good about him, there never had been, there never would be—

A gentle hand covered his own, and then Alex was looking into Mary's face. They were both shorter than average, with Alex a few inches taller than her, but currently he was hunched over, subconsciously protecting his stomach, and they were of a height.

"It's okay kid," she said softly, blue eyes sad and concerned. "It's okay. I forgive you. It was an accident, and I forgive you. It wasn't your fault."

"It _was." _His breath was coming in shorter gasps, and he felt- he felt- he felt like he couldn't _breathe. _Like he was suffocating, drowning. "It was my fault, it always is, and I should have known, I should have, and I hurt you and I hurt Sabina, and I just _hurt _people. I always hurt people. And now Jack's- Jack's d-dead, and no one _wants _me, and Sabina's parents were right to give me back, they were _r-right_, I can't- I can't—"

"Jesus, kid, _breathe. _Breathe with me, okay? In and out. Like this. Kid, please." She took his hand and placed it on her chest. "With me. Like this."

"You're having a panic attack," Stella said quietly. She was standing behind her partner, face drawn, peering over Mary's shoulder. "It's okay. It'll pass. You're safe here."

And it took a few minutes, his hand pressed tightly against Mary's shirt, her fingers circled gently around his elbows, but he finally— finally— brought his breathing back under control. His face was tight and wet, and he realized abruptly that he'd been crying. His neck felt sweaty and his legs were shaky.

Mary must have noticed, because she tugged on his arm gently. "Come sit down."

"I think I should leave."

"You shouldn't," Stella spoke up. "Please Alex. Come sit down with us, sweetie."

"But—" His eyes darted between them, and he felt tears welling up traitorously once more. "But I _hurt _you."

"Hey. I'm stronger than I look." Mary flexed a bicep and sent him a mock offended look. But when he just looked back at her, guiltily, the look faded, and she sighed. "Seriously though. You didn't hurt me. And I mean— it was an accident, wasn't it?"

"Of course," he blurted, and she nodded definitively, as if that were the end of it— but surely it couldn't be.

"So come. Sit. It's going to be okay."

"I'll get some tissues." Stella flitted away down the hall, leaving Alex and Mary alone.

She gazed at him expectantly, and, with a final glance toward the door, he came and sat down. He chose the sofa this time. He couldn't even look at the armchair.

"Do you want to talk about this, kiddo?" Mary asked softly. She had taken the chair, and was leaning forward, patience on her face.

"I really don't. I want— I just—" And then, despite the fact that he had _just said _that he didn't want to talk about it, he spilled out, "I always think people are going to _hurt _me. I hate it so _much."_

"I understand that. In different ways, but I do. I don't know if you've figured this out or not, but Stella and I— we're together. Romantically."

"I figured," he said.

"Some people never even consider it, even when we tell them we share a bed." The small smile on her face faded. "Some people are _terrible, _Alex. You know this by now. And when I was growing up— well. I was always afraid of violence. Always. Even from people who were supposed to love me. I didn't come out until I was 22 and living independently, because I knew— I just knew— that if I came out to my parents, they would hurt me."

Her lips twisted sardonically. "And then after that, I mean, some people _did _hurt me. They hurt Stella too. And even now, people are still awful. Homophobic. Cruel. And it's not the same as what's happening with you, but I _do _understand the instinct, Alex. I do. I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

"I'm sorry your life has been like that," Alex said. "You don't deserve it."

"You don't deserve the hurt either," she said seriously. "You are a child, and _nobody _should have hurt you. Nobody."

Before he could respond, tell her _I'm 18 now, _ Stella came padding back into the room, a box of tissues in her hand. She took the seat next to him and set the box on the coffee table in front of them.

"Thanks." He took a few and wiped his eyes, feeling more embarrassed now. "God. I'm sorry. About all of this. I guess I ruined your dinner, huh?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Mary scoffed. "Dinner's perfectly fine— and ready to eat whenever you are."

"You don't… want me to leave?"

"No," Stella said. "Is that what happened last time? With- With Sabina?"

He looked at her sharply, and _oh. _Oh he had forgotten he'd talked about that.

"It was the right thing to do. I was dangerous to her, and her family."

"And sending you back into the system," Stella asked doubtfully. "Was that the safe thing for _you?"_

He glared at the floor.

"I broke her nose," he grit out. "They couldn't keep me around. And neither should you."

"Well, this is our house, and we decide what we should or should not do." Mary crossed her arms and frowned at him. "And we're deciding we want you to stay for dinner." She stood. "So get up, both of you. Food's getting cold."

And then dinner was… not bad. Not by a long shot. Kind of awkward, sure. Kind of embarrassing, knowing that both women had seen him have a huge breakdown, accompanied by crying and a panic attack, but.

It was… nice.

The passed the peas to him directly, talked about mundanities, and neither of them pushed him to say anymore. They just ate.

He could hardly believe it.

It had been— well— _years_, since he'd been given such kindness. Such empathy. Such gentleness.

It hurt, in a way.

* * *

He woke up the next morning, comfortable and relaxed, blinking sleepily up at the ceiling.

Mary and Stella hadn't let him leave, the night before. Both had insisted that he take the couch, which was actually _much _more comfortable than it looked. He'd protested, at first, but they had quickly worn him down. It was amazing, actually. How stubborn they both were.

A moment later, Stella and Mary's door cracked open, and Stella shuffled out. It must have been some noise from inside the room that had awoken him. He sat up, and the motion caught her eye.

"Alex!" Stella exclaimed quietly, coming over. "You're up! I hope I didn't wake you, I was trying to be quiet."

"You didn't," he lied. He swung his feet over the side of the couch. He was wearing a pair of Mary's sleep pants, cinched tightly around his waist, and his shirt from the day. "Is Mary still asleep?"

"Yeah. She sleeps like the dead. I'll wake her in a bit. We usually open up the store at 9, so we have about an hour." She shuffled into the kitchen, calling back, "What do you want for breakfast? I could make pancakes and we have cereal— but just Raisin Bran though. We have fruit, too."

"Raisin Bran is fine."

He joined her at the kitchen table, watching as she brought out bowls and spoons.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, quietly. He couldn't hold it in any longer. "You… You helped me. Last night. And you didn't have to, but you did, and I want to say thank you."

"Alex." She placed the milk down in front of him and smiled at him, kindly. Softly. "It's okay. You're a good kid."

"You really don't know that, Stella," he couldn't help but protest. "You don't know much about me at all."

"Okay, so. Let us. Come back for dinner, tomorrow night. We can talk more then."

"You—" His jaw gaped. "You want me to come _back?"_

"Yes. Mary seems to like you. And I think I like you too— although I guess you're right, I don't really know much about you. So if you come back we can learn."

And this was _completely _unbelievable to him. _Nobody _had wanted him around. Nobody. Not since he'd been 14 and broken and unable to behave like a normal human being because he was so traumatized inside.

"Are you _sure?" _He couldn't help but ask.

"Yes Alex. I'm sure."

He bit down an embarrassing smile and ate his cereal.

* * *

_A/N: So yeah, this one got away from me a bit lol. Capturing the feeling of wistfulness of a used bookshop was actually really hard for me lol! But so much fun! I hope that whoever submitted this great prompt knows that I had a lot of pleasure writing this, thanks for it. And now I actually really want to continue this story now haha_

_I foresee Alex eventually getting adopted and growing closer to his two lesbian mothers, who help him apply for colleges and show him that he's deserving of love :')_


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